


Scream for the Silent

by Sermocinare



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Sadism, Sexual Abuse, Sociopathic character, Suicidal Ideation, Verbal Abuse, military abuse, psychological abuse, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: Admiral Brooks wasn't done with Armitage after the incident in his chambers. Far from it. And this time, there will be no interruptions.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Scream for the Silent

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the first two pages of the Hux comic. Please read the tags. I mean it. This fic is very, very dark, but so is child abuse. I don't want anyone to get hurt or triggered, so don't read if you aren't sure you can handle it. I've tried to include every warning that applies, but I'm only human, so please, if I missed something, tell me and I will add the tag as soon as I see your message.

Armitage lifted his hand, then let it sink down again. There was a tense flutter in his stomach, making him slightly nauseous, a feeling he hadn’t been able to shake since his father, in the offhand manner of someone who had almost forgotten, told Armitage that Admiral Brooks wanted to see him. 

He didn’t like Admiral Brooks, and not just since the incident yesterday, when his nerves had caused him to drop the glass of whiskey he had been supposed to serve him during the meeting between Brooks and his father. Brooks had something about him that made Armitage’s skin crawl. If someone had asked him what that something was, Armitage wouldn’t have been able to answer, which was why he was trying to get a hold of himself now. He didn’t want to prove his father right by standing in front of Brooks trembling like a kicked puppy. He had embarrassed the Commandant enough as it was. 

Don’t be weak. Don’t be a coward. Be a man, Armitage.

Taking a deep breath, Armitage pressed the button on the control panel, and only a second later, the door opened and he stepped inside Brooks’ quarters. 

Brooks was lounging on his chair the same as last time, but when Armitage entered, he got up, his movements languid, almost lazy. 

“Ah. Armitage. How nice of you to show up.”

Armitage held his gaze straight ahead, his hands at the small of his back: “I came as soon as I heard you wanted to see me, Admiral.”

Brooks gave a derisive snort: “Ah, yes. It’s all due to someone else’s tardiness.”

Armitage pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying anything. It wasn’t his fault! Then again, it didn’t matter whose fault it was. He was the one who apparently hadn’t been here quickly enough for the Admiral’s liking, and Armitage knew that any kind of back talk would land him in a world of trouble, if not with Brooks, then with the Commandant. 

So he let his gaze drop to the floor, his tone apologetic: “I’m sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

Another snort, and the Admiral circled him once, eyes boring into Armitage and making his skin prickle as if an army of little insects were hidden underneath it.

“As much as I value and respect your father, it seems that he has been a bit lax with some aspects of your education. Like punctuality. Or how to serve a drink without dropping it as if you were retarded.” Brooks stopped in front of Armitage: “Or obedience to your superiors, for that matter.”

This time, it took Armitage more than a little self-control to keep quiet. If there was anything that his father had taught him, it was obedience. He had had it beaten into him more times than he could remember, so he did as he was told. Always. 

Whatever it was that was going on here was something very bad, of that much he was sure. Brooks was setting him up for something, and Armitage suppressed a shiver, an icy trickle of fear running down his spine. He wanted to turn around and run away, run and hide somewhere neither Brooks nor his father would find him, but there was no place on this ship, any ship, probably the whole galaxy where the Commandant wouldn’t find him. And if he ran, and his father found him… Armitage didn’t even dare to follow that thought to its conclusion.  
No. All he could do was try to keep his wits about him so he wouldn’t end up in more trouble than he already was.

“So I would say that we practice some of those things. Let’s start with serving drinks.”

Brooks returned to his chair, laying back on it again, and waved a hand at Armitage: “Bring me a glass of whiskey. And do try not to drop it this time. Do you think you can manage that?” 

Armitage nodded: “Yes, Sir.”

He quickly turned around and went over to the cupboard where the Admiral kept his drinks. His face felt hot, and he was hoping fervently that he wasn’t blushing. He hadn’t meant to drop that glass, he had just been nervous since his father usually didn’t let him come along when he went to talk with the other important officers. The Commandant usually didn’t take him anywhere, since Armitage had a tendency to embarrass him by doing or saying something stupid. Maybe you can make yourself useful for once, his father had said, since the Admiral’s service droid has broken down. 

But even that had been too much for Armitage to manage. He would make it up now. He would show the Admiral that he could be useful. 

Setting the filled glass down on a tray, Armitage took a deep breath and went back to where Brooks was lounging, and this time, the glass stayed exactly where he had put it. 

“Your drink, Admiral.” 

“Will you look at that,” Brooks said, raising his eyebrows and taking the glass, “he’s not completely useless at even the most basic things after all.”

Again, Armitage felt heat rising underneath his skin, and this time, there was a tang of anger to it. Why did Brooks have to be so horrible? He had done as he had been told. Why was that not enough for people like Brooks or his father? Why did they always, always make him feel smaller than he already was?

Brooks got up, interrupting Armitage’s thoughts: “But there was another thing I ordered you to do which you didn’t, wasn’t there?”

Oh, no. Armitage’s stomach flipped, the rising anger being instantly replaced by an icy fear. This couldn’t be happening. 

Armitage remembered the fear when he had realized that his father wouldn’t help him, the shame as he had dropped to his hands and knees, and most of all the pain that had followed when the Commandant had yanked him up by his arm, so hard that Armitage had thought his arm would be pulled out of its socket. His face, ribs and back still bore the marks of his father’s anger, which had unloaded itself as soon as they had been back in the Commandant’s quarters. 

And now it was about to happen again. Only that his father wasn’t here to save him this time. 

Brooks’ smile was that of a hyena who had cornered a baby antelope and was about to rip it to shreds as he opened his fingers, letting the glass crash to the ground, where it exploded into sharp-edged shards, some of which glittered cruelly in the puddle of liquid that was quickly spreading over the floor.

“You know what to do, don’t you, Armitage? Get to it.”

Armitage swallowed hard even though his mouth and throat felt as dry as old parchment. He felt cold, so cold that he started trembling, and looked at Brooks with pleading eyes, hoping for mercy he knew was not there.

“Please, Admiral. Please don’t.” His voice caught against the knot in his throat: “Don’t make me.”

Brook’s voice was a growl, holding a threat that was all too real: “Get down on your knees and lick.”

The tears in Armitage’s eyes were burning hot, and he blinked them away, his jaw trembling against the sob he couldn’t, refused to let out. Don’t cry. Crying is for weaklings. Bear it like a soldier, you sniveling little coward. 

But he wasn’t a soldier, was he? He was just a kid, and the moment he opened his mouth to dip his tongue into the thin film of liquid coating the floor of the Admiral’s quarters, the sob escaped as a pitiful little whimper. 

The whiskey tasted terrible, like liquid fire on his tongue, and he instinctively pulled back.

“Get your mouth back down there and clean up the mess you made.”

To empathize his words, Brooks put the sole of his boot on the back of Armitage’s head and let it sink down until the boy’s face was pushed against the floor hard enough that Armitage whined in pain. 

Armitage was sure that if Brooks applied any more pressure his nose would splinter under the pressure, so he did as he had been told, tongue darting out between his lips in short, almost frenzied movements. 

The pressure against his skull released, and he heard a satisfied hum from above: “Good boy. Now don’t do it again.”

He sniffed, unable to hold back the tears that were leaving hot trails on his face before falling and mixing with the bitter liquid on the floor. Armitage let his mind go numb as to not think too much about what he was doing here, how he was debasing himself in front of he Admiral, and most of all to not acknowledge the sinking feeling, no, certainty, that worse was yet to come. 

He only hesitated again when he saw the first small sliver of glass in front of him. Too afraid to properly lift his head, Armitage tilted his face as much as he dared, eyes turning upwards as to catch Brook’s gaze. His voice was a pitiful whimper as he addressed the man: 

“Admiral? P-please, there’s glass on the floor...”

Brooks’ voice was as cold and empty as the space that surrounded the warship: “And?”

“I… I can’t… it will cut me, please, Admiral, don’t make me, please!”

“Hm.” Brooks seemed to deliberate for a few seconds, seconds that, for Armitage, stretched into an eternity. When he spoke again, his tone jovial: “Well, we don’t want to have you ending up in med bay because of internal bleeding, do we?”

Relief flooded Armitage’s body, until

“So you will lick up the shards, and then spit them into your hand. And you better keep them there. Remember, boy, you didn’t just spill a drink, you also ruined a perfectly good glass.”

For half a heartbeat, anger rose in Armitage’s chest, burning hot and bright as a star. He had spilled this, ruined this? It had been Brooks who let the glass fall! 

Then, a little voice at the back of his mind: no, you did, yesterday, with your clumsiness and inattentiveness, this is your punishment, this is all on you. 

Another sob, and Armitage slowly, carefully slid his tongue over the glittering knife. It didn’t catch on the first two tries, so in the end, he pressed down hard enough that the splinter lodged into his tongue with a short, sharp pain that made him whimper, and when he spit into his hand, his saliva was pink with the first drops of blood.

In the edge of his vision, he saw Brooks sweeping aside the big chunks, leaving only the small, wicked ones that would cut into Armitage’s tongue as he continued to clean up the mess he had made. 

When the fourth shard landed in his palm, his spit had turned to blood, and the liquid he was lapping tasted more of copper than of alcohol. He was crying openly now, short sobs racking his ribs, and all Armitage wanted was to curl up in a little ball on the floor. 

“Ah, yes. Such a good boy, little Armitage.”

The peculiarity and tone in Brook’s voice made Armitage pause, a feeling like icy claws running over his back and gripping, squeezing his stomach. 

He knew he shouldn’t look up, but he did. 

Brooks had opened his pants and was stroking his erect cock, looking down at Armitage, face drawn into a mask of cruel lust, of sadistic glee. 

Armitage’s mind screamed, an animal noise of fear and pain, but his throat had seized up so tight that all that escaped was a soft, warbling whimper. 

No

No no no no no no

No, please, anything, no 

Brooks kicked in his direction, the toe of his boot only barely missing Armitage’s temple, and Armitage ducked down like a whipped puppy before going back to his task, his mind still screaming, screaming so loud it almost drowned out the pain. 

Armitage wished that he could just go numb again, leave his body, forget what he had seen. 

Instead, little shards of glass kept cutting the surface of his tongue to ribbons, blood dripping from his lips, the Admiral’s grunts and moans burning into his ears and searing his mind. 

The shimmering liquid on the floor had long been replaces with droplets and streaks of blood, but Armitage didn’t dare stop out of fear of what might happen if he lifted his head from the floor again. 

A deep moan from above, and the drops of blood were joined by splotches of semen, white and sticky and terrifying. Armitage froze, every part of him seizing up, unable to even tremble.

Please

no

“Aah. That was good, wasn’t it?”

Armitage heard the clinking sound of a belt buckle being closed. Then, footfalls, retreating back to the chair, and still he didn’t dare to move a muscle.

“You may go now.”

The words broke the paralysis that had held Armitage in its grasp, and he scrambled to his feet, turning, feet itching to break into a run, to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

“Tsk. Is that how a soldier behaves when he has been dismissed by his superior?”

Silly. Of course he wouldn’t simply be let go. Not without a last humiliation. 

Swallowing the blood that had pooled in his mouth once again and fighting down the sickness that rose in his throat as coppery liquid slid down his throat, Armitage turned, trying his best to make his trembling body stand up straight before giving a salute that was as shaky as the branches of a tree in a thunderstorm.

“Th- thank you, Admiral.”

Brooks nodded and waved his hand dismissively, and finally, Armitage could leave these chambers of sickness and horrors. 

As soon as the doors closed behind him, he took off in a run, not caring about the people he passed, ran into in his blind flight. He ran and ran, only stopping once the wide maw of the engine shaft opened up in front of him. 

He hadn’t planned to go here, he hadn’t planned go anywhere but away, but it didn’t surprise him that his feet had carried him to this place. 

He took a gasp of air, blood and spit running from the corners of his mouth and down his throat, and his stomach cramped, heaved, wanting to expel the blood, the poison he had swallowed, been made to swallow by a monster even more frightening than his father. Another heave, ending in nothing but a deep cough that turned into a wail. 

In front of him, the engine shaft pulsated with the reflection of light given off by the core, a shining ball of white and blue. If he leaned over the banister, he would be able to see it, and for a moment, Armitage wondered what it would feel like to be pure energy. To be free of this body that was wracked with fear and pain, this body that had been used and debased for a sick man’s gratification. Armitage felt tainted, dirty, gross to the very marrow of his bones, and he knew that no amount of scrubbing would ever make those feelings go away.

Energy didn’t feel, it just was.

He climbed over the banister.

His hands and feet knew where to go even without his prompting. He had taken this climb dozens, maybe a hundred times. 

Gripping the small ledge, he pulled himself up and crawled into the small shaft that led away from the main one. It didn’t go anywhere, but it didn’t need to. Armitage wedged himself between the narrow walls at its very end and closed is eyes, his forehead resting against the unyielding metal. 

It was warm here, close to the core, warm, dark and safe. No one would look for him here. No one would hear him cry, his small body shaking with sobs, cry until his tears ran dry and he was too exhausted to think or feel anything any more. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood, but at last the flow had ebbed to a trickle and then into nothing. 

Armitage felt tired, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be carried off into a death-like sleep by the soft, rhythmic thrum of the core that sounded so much like a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are having the urge to press the comment button to ask me "why the hell would you write something like this, you sicko?" - don't. You obviously don't, won't and can't understand why this was written, so leave me in peace.


End file.
